What Can Never Be
by Diablo Priest
Summary: A sequel to the film. Sweet Pea returns home, where she finds romance and tragedy.
1. I Could Be Almost All the Way Home

A sequel to the film. Sweet Pea returns home, where she finds romance and tragedy.

Rated: M (R)

Sweet Pea and company created by Zack Snyder and Steve Shibuya. The other characters, situations and setting in this fic are mine. Everything is fictitious.

Prefatory remarks:

This fic was inspired as much by Sinéad Lohan's haunting music as by the film _Sucker Punch_. I wrote it by listening to Sinéad, writing, listening to Sinéad, writing. A special thanks to Famaniel for turning me on to Sinéad about ten months ago. I am still enchanted. _Enchanted_ is the right word. _Bewitched_ is another. Her songs are mostly about loss and longing - isn't everything about that? My fic is also about loss and longing. Sinéad only made two albums and a couple of singles about twenty years ago, but if you are fortunate enough to know her music, you might notice more than a few nods to her in my fic. I understand that she has lived for a longtime in an idyllic Irish village with her family, and yet there are those thirty songs of loss and longing... Many years ago, she blessed us with her numinous voice! People with two good ears should listen!

So, here's chapter one of my fic. I'll revise and post subsequent chapters as soon as I can.

What Can Never Be a fic by Diablo Priest.

"In my grief I fell into your heart." -Sinéad Lohan.

Chap. 1

 _I Could Be Almost All the Way Home._

Her guardian angel took Sweet Pea all the way to Fort Wayne. She had no money, so he paid for her meals along the way too. Grace. It is sometimes granted to sinners.

Sweet Pea had been born in a small farming community called Jackson's Leap. The place was named for the alleged heroic feat of the first White settler, Enoch Jackson, who supposedly escaped from a band of Miami braves in 1793 by jumping over the gorge south of what became the village. Jackson was celebrated as a courageous Indian fighter like Daniel Boone, Davy Crockett, or the more famous Jackson, Andrew; in reality, Enoch massacred mostly women, children, and old men at a Miami settlement in 1794. For winning this "battle," General Wayne, the namesake of Fort Wayne, gave him a medal, which was now proudly displayed in a glass case in the town's library. The denizens of the town were indoctrinated in the belief of Jackson's righteousness. It was a simple narrative that was regarded as holy: Kill what is different in the name of your god. For surely, what is different is the work of the Devil. Among these high-minded people, the descendants of self-reliant pioneers, Sweet Pea had been raised.

It was a hot, dusty day near the middle of July, when Sweet Pea stepped off the bus in her hometown, 42 miles outside Fort Wayne. A hot breeze blew the dust stirred up by the bus down the deserted street. It looked like a scene from a John Ford Western. The thought of talking with anyone before she saw her folks seemed sacrilegious to her; and so she set off for the farm on foot at once. It was a long walk, nearly five miles; but like a true wayfarer, she rested twice under the shade of comforting trees.

Before Sweet Pea reached the old farmhouse, she could see that it needed to be painted, the barn too. The lilac bush in the southeast corner of the yard was dead, had been so for a long time she reckoned. The post of the RFD box was leaning precariously. It was past milking time; her parents would be eating their supper. She walked to the backdoor amidst a dozen chickens scratching the ground. When Sweet Pea walked in the door, as if she had just been outside doing chores, her mother looked as if she had seen a ghost, her expression momentarily frozen in disbelief. Her normally stoic father broke the spell by shouting:

"Sweet Pea!" And he jumped up, sending his chair crashing to the floor with a loud bang.

Her parents hugged and kissed her. She hugged and kissed them back. The old woman kept pinching her cheeks, as if she were a child.

Their joy was transient. Sweet Pea followed her mother's gaze to the door. Sweet Pea knew that the old woman was expecting her younger daughter to come through the doorway. Rocket. Jenny.

"You had better sit down, Ma," Sweet Pea said.

Her father solicitously held the chair for his wife.

"Rocket isn't coming back," Sweet Pea said softly. The words were simple, but came out with great difficulty. "She will never be coming back."

The old woman's comprehension stalled. And when the meaning of Sweet Pea's words was understood, the old woman piteously wailed:

"My baby!"

The cry hit Sweet Pea like the kick of a mule, and she staggered forward to brace herself with the wooden table.

"No, no, no! My baby!"

Her father gazed at the chair in which Rocket used to sit. He too did not understand Sweet Pea's words at first. But as his wife cried, he went to Rocket's chair and locked his arms around it as if embracing his lost daughter.

"Dear Jenny," he sighed. "Dear God." His voice was frail, and it shocked Sweet Pea to hear the vulnerability infused in it. That her father was weak mortal flesh frightened her.

Sweet Pea gazed at her mother then her father, both afflicted with deep sorrow. Surely, she was a monster to bring such appalling news to her parents. A monster. How evil a homecoming. When Rocket ran away from home, there had always been hope, hope that she would return. When Rocket died, hope also died. Without that hope, home would never be the same. It would be more akin to a home without a hearth. Sweet Pea had brought the black news, the news that hope was dead. And now the promise that Sweet Pea had made to Rocket to tell their mother that Rocket loved her, seemed empty and futile. What of love is left after death?

The farm was beautiful in mid-summer, the fields were filled with life. Yet, to be in tune with the numinous cycle of nature was a curse. The work was ceaseless - the same as digging a hole in dry sand. The cows had to be milked twice a day, every single day of the year; the hay had to be harvested, the straw had to be harvested, and a hundred other things had to be done. Rocket was gone, but nothing changed. Even so, all was different. Rocket was gone.

The next day at first light, as if she had never been away, Sweet Pea fed the chickens, while the eastern sky effloresced from gray to honey. A small black kitten hobbled among the chickens on its way to the barn, where the cows where being milked. Sweet Pea's mother said that Mrs. Litz had seen some boys throw the cat from a moving car. She had fed it at her place until her dog had chased it away. The cat had been injured when it hit the ground, or perhaps had been born with a defect, one of its eyes was sunken. It lived under the back steps now; and with the other stay cats, Sweet Pea's father gave it cow's milk twice a day.

Sweet Pea watched the kitten awkwardly shuffle towards the barn. The cat would never be a mouser, and Sweet Pea knew that her father would complain about it, complain about feeding it twice a day. He would resent that little cat for those drops of milk that really belonged to God. Was it the farm-life that had hardened her father, Sweet Pea wondered, the never-ending toil, the constant worrying about the weather and about paying the bank, and the haggling over credit at the feed store. And Sweet Pea wondered about what kind of boys would throw a defenseless kitten from a moving car. Would they lead normal lives? Would they be the kind of men that patronized Blue's brothel? Would they be like the Cook and rape Rocket? Stab Rocket? Murder Rocket? Murder her sister. Would they bombard trench-works over and over and over, until two hundred thousand men had disappeared? Would they gas millions more? Would they let a man strangle at the end of a rope for a half-hour in the name of justice? Would they drop a bomb, destroy two entire cities filled with people, and live normal lives?

The sun was up now. The rooster crowing loudly, calling all to witness God's glory. Her mother was calling Sweet Pea to breakfast. And on it went for a week, maybe two. Or maybe fifty-two.

[contd]


	2. An Arrow Pointed Deep and Directly

Chap. 2

 _An Arrow Pointed Deep and Directly_

One Saturday, her father gave Sweet Pea the keys to the old 1950 Crosley station wagon. It was to be a kind of holiday for her, and Sweet Pea suspected that it was her mother's idea. Sweet Pea was becoming increasingly laconic; and although her mother came from a family of farm-bred stoics, the old woman was concerned. To Sweet Pea's growing sullenness, her father announced one evening at supper that Davey Philmore would be getting out of the army soon. It was his rather blunt way of suggesting that she marry Davey. Her father was a thoroughly practical man who sincerely believed that moody girls needed husbands. Sweet Pea reminded her father that Davey had always had a soft spot for Delores Patton. He snorted - his way of saying that Davey could do better.

Having been gone, and now returned, Sweet Pea had a new understanding of why her sister had run away. Yes, Rocket had tried to explain; but for Sweet Pea the words had never held meaning. Now, Sweet Pea did not understand, she _felt_. She felt what Rocket had felt for years. Stifled. And she understood Baby Doll's yearning for freedom. The desire for liberation was growing in Sweet Pea's soul. Oh, to be free. Not to be bound by diurnal concerns. To break the chains of the flesh. To be an unfettered spirit!

The day was already very hot, and so Sweet Pea did not complain when her father offered the keys. She drove into town with the intention of seeing a matinée at the Bijou. It was showing some squirrelly film about a prehistoric monster awaken by a nuclear test. While the film might not even be good for a few laughs, the air conditioning would be welcomed. The change in the repressive routine would be welcomed, even if only for one afternoon. She parked the car a block from the theater, but never made it there because she saw Baby Doll. It could not be Baby Doll, of course; but the girl who stopped her obviously war-surplus Jeep at the red light of Main and Apple street certainly looked like Baby Doll - pint-sized and blonde, her hair almost blanched white from the summer sun. She shifted the Jeep like a driver at the Indianapolis 500, and Sweet Pea's eyes were drawn from her blonde hair, in a ponytail, to the small hand gripping the stick shift. The light turned green, the blonde girl shifted into gear and sped the Jeep around the corner, up-shifting again perfectly, heading north on Main. Sweet Pea did not know her, and she knew everyone in her small hometown. The theater was south on Main, but as it was around lunch time, Sweet Pea gambled that the stranger was heading to the Silver Arrow Diner. Sweet Pea set out northwards towards the diner. She had no plan, but was guided, like a migrating bird, by some cosmic instinct.

Sweet Pea was correct. As she neared the diner, she saw the Jeep parked out front. However, when she entered the diner, she did not see the blonde girl. The diner was one of those made from an old train car, and so was not very big; there was only a counter with stools. At the far end of the counter, an empty stool had a menu in front of it. The only other empty stool was next to that one; Sweet Pea sat down.

Stella, who had been a waitress at the diner as long as Sweet Pea could remember, came over to her.

"Well hello, hun," Stella said. "I heard you were back home!"

"Yes."

"What can I get ya?"

"Coffee, black," Sweet Pea answered.

Immediately, Stella set a cup in front of Sweet Pea and poured some steaming coffee into it. As she did this, the blonde girl appeared. Just as Sweet Pea had thought, the girl had been in the restroom out back. She smiled at Sweet Pea, and sat down. It was a slightly crooked smile, but the girl's little dimples were endearing. The freckles from the sunshine that were scattered on her nose, captivating.

The blonde girl pushed the menu away, and said:

"Grilled cheese and fries with a root beer please, Stella."

"Comin' right up, hun," Stella replied. And pulling out her tablet, she marked down the order, hung it on the lazy susie, after ringing the bell.

Sweet Pea glanced over at the stranger, who sensed the look and turned to Sweet Pea and smiled again!

"Do we know one another?" the blonde girl asked.

"No, I don't have the pleasure," Sweet Pea replied. Then she extended her hand. "I'm Abbey Browning."

"Sweet Pea!" the blonde cried as if she knew her intimately.

"Yes," Sweet Pea said, blushing beet red. Even after she had grown, everyone in town still called her by her childhood nickname. It was not surprising that this girl also knew her nickname. Somehow, she had become acquainted with it by just being in town for however long that was.

"Oh, I made you blush. They say angels can't blush, so you must be a real fiend - I had better be on my guard around you."

Sweet Pea laughed.

The girl took Sweet Pea's hand, and held it for a long time.

"I'm please to meet the prodigal daughter returned," she said. "I'm Colleen."

Sweet Pea blushed again. It was silly, she thought, after all I've been through, to blush like a demure schoolgirl.

Colleen laughed, a lilting musical chirrup. And this only caused Sweet Pea's face to get even hotter.

"I'm going to burst into flames."

"If only you would burn for me," Colleen said.

"Summer isn't over, yet," Sweet Pea said, trying to restrain the waxing elation in her heart. Maybe she had not heard the words correctly.

"It has been very hot lately," Colleen remarked, as she toyed with an old-fashioned skeleton key that hung from a chain around her neck.

There it was again. _Heat_. Sweet Pea was sure now that Colleen felt it too.

"Yes," she agreed. "Very hot."

Colleen was getting her post-graduate degree in agricultural science at Purdue University, and was working at the office of the County Agricultural Agent as an intern. She had been in town for six weeks. As she talked about herself, Colleen seemed nervous, Sweet Pea thought. She would rattle off a sentence and then nibble on some of the French fries or sandwich, while glancing at Sweet Pea. Then Colleen would twitter on another topic. It was a while before Sweet Pea realized that she should fill in the gaps. And she felt hot again.

Colleen took a breath, and then slid her plate toward Sweet Pea, half the grilled cheese sandwich remained.

"Have the rest," she said. "Like being in love, the heat robs me of my appetite."

Sweet Pea blushed again.

"Honestly," she stammered, "I can have a conversation like a normal person. Really."

"Tomorrow is Sunday," Colleen said. "I'll give you the chance to prove it. Let's go for a drive, and you can tell me all your misadventures."

"It'll have to be after church," Sweet Pea said.

"Then it's a date."

Colleen put her money on the counter and stood up. Sweet Pea watched her leave. Watched her shift the Jeep confidently and drive away. Sweet Pea felt strangely calm. _Date_. Colleen had said it as a boy would have said it to her. Should not Sweet Pea have felt excited? She sat looking at the empty parking space for too long. Paddy Burns, the village idiot, passed by. He was singing aloud to himself, as was his habit. Having seen Sweet Pea gazing out the window of the diner, he waved cheerfully to her. Paddy was the happiest person that Sweet Pea knew, and yet she felt suddenly sad. Even tearful, as he went on his way singing as if this day were God's gracious gift to himself alone. Singing like a drunken choirboy. The nameless sadness pulled at Sweet Pea's heart, nearly wringing tears from her eyes. Sadness like an infectious virus, always lurking...

[contd]


	3. You Will Find Me Down by the River

Chap. 3

 _You Will Find Me Down by the River_

Sunday was hot. The church was hot, but the Reverend Virgil Rhodes was not one to abbreviate the service; it was his duty - wind, rain, hail, snow, heat - to see that God was not cheated out of what was His due. Fidgeting like a child, Sweet Pea was impatient; for she knew that Colleen was waiting. Sweet Pea could tell even her father also was impatient, but she suspected it was not actually the heat that was bothering her father. He had always sung enthusiastically at church, but since her return - since she had brought the news of Rocket's death - Sweet Pea could tell that her father's singing no longer came from the heart. As the congregation rose for the last hymn, Sweet Pea studied her father obliquely. Yes, the weight of life was heavy on his shoulders. If only things could be as before...

Her parents were put out that Sweet Pea would be missing the usual Sunday dinner, which followed church. Her mother, however, was pleased that her daughter had made a new friend. Her father, always distrustful of outsiders, scowled at Sweet Pea as they left the church. She was accustomed to this sort of thing, and she paid no attention to her father's disapproving face.

As Sweet Pea crossed the dusty parking lot toward Colleen's Jeep, her mother called out, "You girls have fun."

Sweet Pea waved to her mother and hopped into the Jeep. Before releasing the clutch, Colleen impishly smiled at Sweet Pea; and the Jeep flew away from the church. Down the road it raced like Dillinger's getaway car loaded with bank loot. Sweet Pea pointed the way through the back lots of the village, where the boys raced their old jalopies, and passed the water tower. Bouncing all the time, like a ride at the firemen's field days. Then along country lanes with rows of corn on each side, the Jeep sailed like clouds overhead, kicking up dust and spitting gravel from the tires. Sweet Pea was guiding Colleen to the river, to Browne's swimming hole.

As they neared the river, the Jeep flushed out five quail. They flew noisily overhead, amidst the dust thrown up by the Jeep. With her eyes, Sweet Pea followed the birds in the sky until she was blinded by the sun. At that moment her heart ached; she wished an impossible wish. She wished that she and Colleen could fly away into that yellow sky.

Sweet Pea watched Colleen's hand as she manipulated the stick shift. A thick cloud of dust enveloped the Jeep as Colleen brought it to a stop by the river's edge. Colleen ground the Jeep into neutral and jerked the parking brake. Slowly the dust dissipated. As if they had run all the way, the girls sat silently for a while, catching their breath.

"It's obvious that something is troubling you," Colleen said. "Tell me about it."

"It's a long story," Sweet Pea said.

"I've come prepared for that."

Colleen reached behind her seat and pulled out a bottle of rye. She uncorked it, took a big swallow like a sailor on shore leave, and passed the bottle to Sweet Pea. She choked down some, and it burned as it went down her gullet. The heat spread like flames from her chest.

"Shit, that's powerful!" Sweet Pea said.

"But, it will make your story easier."

"No," Sweet Pea said. "No, it won't." And she took another mouthful before passing the bottle back to Colleen.

"It is time to be unburdened," Colleen said, taking the bottle.

"Rocket had always been volatile and impulsive."

"And she ran away from home," Colleen said. "I know that much. And you followed."

"Yeah. I was almost eighteen. I thought I could protect her."

There was silence.

Sweet Pea took the rye and drank some more.

"She was already in over her head when I reached her." Sweet Pea started to sob. "I wasn't much help."

"What happened?" Colleen asked softly.

"White slavery," Sweet Pea said. "This guy called Blue promised Rocket a job in the kitchen of the asylum were he worked, but he kept us prisoners. If we resisted, they pumped us fill of drugs. If we still resisted, it was lobotomy for us. That's what happened to the other girls, Baby Doll, Amber, and Blondie. Blue had them turned into real-life sex toys. He was the Chief Warder and he forged paperwork all the time."

"Jesus Christ," Colleen sighed.

"He wasn't much help either."

"What happened to Rocket?"

"A new girl, Baby Doll, came in. You look something like her, by the way. They faked her commitment papers, her step-father wanted her out of the way so he could get his hands on her mother's fortune," Sweet Pea explained. "Blue was going to sell her cherry to a special client and then have her lobotomized before enjoying her himself, but she vowed to escape. Baby Doll wasn't going to be enslaved. She wasn't going to be possessed. Rocket joined her quest right away. Said she wanted to go home."

"You got out."

"Yeah." Sweet Pea could not continue her story. She was weeping now. "But the others...didn't."

Colleen re-corked the rye and took Sweet Pea into her arms. The only other words she could understand - Sweet Pea shouted them out in anger and anguish - were

"...He stabbed her..."

That was enough. The end of the girl's story was the sharp blade of a knife.

Colleen held Sweet Pea for a long time.

Even after her tears subsided, Sweet Pea felt her face burning. Suddenly, she left the Jeep and headed straight to the water. Colleen was alarmed and followed close behind the grief-stricken girl. It was a relief to Colleen, when Sweet Pea knelt and splashed cool water on her face. Instantly Sweet Pea felt better. It was as if the river water washed away her despair. Impulsively Sweet Pea stood up and began pulling off her clothes.

"I'm going for a swim!" she announced to her astonished friend.

And quickly, she was naked and bounded into the river with big splashes.

"All right," Colleen said, with noticeably less enthusiasm. But she too was soon naked and splashing into the water.

The hot summer sun made it the perfect afternoon for skinny dipping. The dark greenish water was cool and refreshing.

When the two girls came out of the water, Colleen jogged up to the Jeep, and pulled out a blanket and spread it out for them to lie upon.

"Is there anything that you don't have in that wreck?" Sweet Pea asked.

"I was a Girl Scout," Colleen replied. "If you had gotten a cramp, there's a life jacket I could have thrown to you."

Sweet Pea laughed. "You're joking!"

"I am. But there is a length of rope."

They both lay down on the blanket.

Sometimes, miracles are small.

Surely, Sweet Pea thought Eden must have been like this: the silver flashes of the river scintillating beneath the summer sun; the sweet smell of freshly mown clover wafting to her on a gentle whiff of air; the faintly fishy smell of the water flowing nigh; the smell of newly harvested hay from the next field over; and nude bodies, young and hale, lying in the sun, both warm with the heat of life.

Sweet Pea propped herself up on her left elbow, and with her right hand took up the skeleton key that hung on a chain around Colleen's neck.

"What's the story of this key?" Sweet Pea asked.

Colleen gazed up, not at Sweet Pea but beyond, gazed at the fathomless blue sky.

"Long, long ago," Colleen said nearly to herself, "a magical being gave the key to me and said that it would unlock hearts. I've worn it ever since."

Sweet Pea let go of the key. As if it belonged there and nowhere else, Sweet Pea slid her right hand onto Colleen's left breast. She felt the strong heart beating beneath. She felt the living blood flowing in the flesh. Colleen closed her eyes, and Sweet Pea gently squeezed. A slight moan escaped Colleen's lips. Sweet Pea kissed her.

When their mouths parted, Colleen said:

"I want you, but I must tell you that what we share cannot last."

"I'm yours," Sweet Pea declared. "Crucify me, if that makes you happy."

Colleen kissed her in reply. In that moment only the kiss mattered. To be thus set free was intoxicating.

All at once, Sweet Pea's hands were gliding all over Colleen's body and the blonde girl's caresses where everywhere on her own body. As if time were the enemy, Sweet Pea was kissing Colleen all over: eye, ear, nipples; navel, thigh, toe, frantically devouring the spiritual nourishment of her flesh.

Through the static electricity set off in her body by Colleen's tongue, Sweet Pea heard the words -

 _This is my body which is given for you..._

And their bodies became as two snakes uroborically writhing in the grass.

[contd]


	4. All This Fire in the Air

Chap. 4

 _All This Fire in the Air_

The summer heat was heavy in the air. It was as if the night were filled with longing, with the heat and moisture of longing. And the longing for Colleen that Sweet Pea felt was stronger because of its secrecy. It was the same with poetry, the mysterious lines always make the deepest impressions in your heart. Sweet Pea awaited her muse. It was Tuesday night, her parents had left for Bible study at the church. Feigning a headache, Sweet Pea had stayed home, had stayed for her rendezvous with Colleen. The crunching of the gravel under the wheels of Colleen's Jeep, sent Sweet Pea's heart hammering with anticipation. To the front porch Sweet Pea raced, the screen door banging behind her like a firecracker. She stood on the steps as the Jeep drove up, came to a stop, and Colleen shifted into neutral and yanked on the lever of the parking brake. With a wide grin and a bottle of wine in one hand, Colleen dismounted the Jeep. Sweet Pea ran up to her; all day she had thought of that kiss... Even after their mouths had parted, Sweet Pea kept her eyes closed tightly, savouring that kiss. Wishing that she could hold that kiss on her lips for ever.

Colleen laughed at her.

"You are hopeless," she said.

"Hopelessly in love," Sweet Pea declared.

"Stop it!" Colleen chuckled.

"Or," Sweet Pea said, "you have bewitched me with a wicked spell. Hecate also had a key."

"Yes, she did. But you can tell I'm not she - no dogs are howling."

"But," Sweet Pea whispered in Colleen's ear, "this bitch is in heat."

Colleen grabbed Sweet Pea's breasts and kissed her, bitting her bottom lip.

"My key," she said, "will open the gates of heaven for you."

Sweet Pea's hands were reaching for Colleen's breasts...

"First," Colleen said, teasingly twisting away from her lover, "we drink the sacramental wine."

"But, I've waited all day to taste the salt of your skin."

"And, I've had a long hot and dusty ride out here from town," Colleen said. She held the bottle aloft: "It's chilled."

"All right," Sweet Pea said. "I'll get some glasses."

Pop! went the bottle as Colleen released the cork.

"Next," she shouted after Sweet Pea, who had entered the house, "I'm gonna make you pop for me!"

"Promises, promises!" Sweet Pea shouted back.

She entered the kitchen, but stopped suddenly in the hot, motionless air. Somehow, Rocket's chair seemed to be in her way. It was pushed in and the kitchen was as orderly as always. Her mother kept it that way. Yet, somehow the spaces seemed smaller now. She reached out and touched the back of the chair. Rocket's chair. Lightly, her fingertips lingering on the wood, touching what once had been alive. What once had been...

When she returned, she had two glasses; but they were not for wine.

"You're such a heyseed!" Colleen laughed. "Don't you have any wineglasses?"

"No," Sweet Pea replied with a heavy, sad tone.

"That's all right," Colleen said, not quite perceiving that her lover's strong melancholy was only superficially related to the wrong drinking glasses. "These will do in a pinch."

They sat on the porch swing and sipped their wine.

"So," Sweet Pea said, the sense of depression still haunting her, "we'll have only a month together."

"Yes," Colleen said. "I must return to campus before Labor Day. I have two more classes, and my thesis to complete. Summers go by so fast."

Sweet Pea was silent.

The crickets were singing like angels. And the lightning bugs were in their full glory, many were high in the trees across the road. It seemed as if it were Christmas with the thousands and thousands of flashing lights.

"It's hard to believe that in two weeks or so, they'll go dark," Colleen said.

"They'll disappear like you," Sweet Pea observed.

"That's not fair," Colleen protested. "And do you really want to spend this precious time talking about that? There's nothing we can do about it."

Sweet Pea turned from Colleen to contemplate the lightning bugs; far off behind the trees, heat lightning illuminated the sky with a brilliant yet ghostly flash.

"No," Sweet Pea replied. "The days are only what we make them."

"And the nights go only where we take them."

"Kiss me," Sweet Pea whispered. "Kiss me, or I shall surely die from wanting you."

They joined. Colleen's tongue felt like a delicate little butterfly, but Sweet Pea could feel its magic. Strong magic. Sweet Pea's skin where Colleen touched it tingled just as if static electricity arced. The same power that lit the distant clouds. If only she were those clouds. If only. Clouds.

Oh, the heat lightning flashed more, magic arcing in the abeyant atmosphere. It seemed to stretch from the distance, reaching out for them. Reaching out to touch them with a passion-spell. Somewhere, far off, a storm was raging.

[contd]


	5. Believe It If You Like

Chap. 5

 _Believe It If You Like_

And so summer began to wane, and Colleen left for campus. Sweet Pea was brave, how else could she be after Baby Doll's example? Colleen vowed to write. Sweet Pea was strong too. Waited patiently for the promised letter. Waited. Strength, sometimes however, can be easily misdirected.

Davey Philmore, handsome and strong and recently home from army service, was hired to help her father, especially harvesting the alfalfa, fodder for the cows during the winter. It had to be cut, baled, stacked on the wagon, brought to the barn, and stacked in the hayloft. On a particularly hot day, her mother made lemonade for the men. She gave the tray to Sweet Pea to bring out to the barn.

"Sweet Pea, dearest," her mother said, "Smile when you give Davey his glass. You should smile more around him. He's a good boy - a fine man..."

Sweet Pea took the tray without a word.

Sweet Pea had always been a good whore for Blue. Before he had become infatuated with Baby Doll, it was Sweet Pea who had satisfied him in the janitor's closet. She hated Blue, but she gave him good head; he always wanted more. It was Sweet Pea, not any of the other girls, who could please Blue. And more than that, he could count on her to satisfy fastidious clients, important clients. Who was it who had the orgy with the champion rowing team from that elite college? Who was it who had satisfied all those athletes? Davey Philmore did not have a chance. Sweet Pea could manipulate him. Her parents seemed to want that. Wanted her to be with Davey. Yes, she could make Davey love her, if she wanted to. And he would stay, unlike Colleen.

Before she went into the barn, Sweet Pea set the tray down on an old milk can and undid two buttons of her blouse. And when she served Davey, she smiled for him.

Davey stayed for supper that night.

After the meal, Sweet Pea sat with him on the porch swing. Exactly where she had sat with Colleen.

"You leave the young uns alone," she heard her mother say to her father.

And Davey suggested that they take a walk. Sweet Pea knew what that meant. She was ready to perform.

She could feel the tension in his body. It was like that with men. It was always more mechanical. But even in the darkness of the hayloft, Sweet Pea knew that he was satisfied. As her mouth worked on him, he moaned:

"Oh, Abbey... Abbey..."

She was no longer Sweet Pea to Davey Philmore.

Still, everyday she went to the mailbox. Looking for Colleen's letter. Often, she thought, how long does it take for a letter to travel across the state? From Lafayette to Fort Wayne? One day? Two days? Maybe it took three. Certainly, it was no more than three. She waited. And when she went to the mailbox, the crickets chirping in the weeds growing along the ditch by the side of the road, reminded her of that night on the porch, reminded her of that magical night when the crickets sang like angels for them. As the chill of the passing nights increased, the crickets, one by one, fell silent. Even the warmth of the sun could not revive them.

"Any mail?" her father asked Sweet Pea one day when she returned from her habitual walk to the mailbox. He was sitting at the table, finishing the last bite of his lunch.

"Just a bill," Sweet Pea replied. She set it on the table.

"That was a fine lunch, girl."

She collected the plate, glass, and silverware. Took them to the sink to wash. Behind her, she heard her father rise up from his seat. He stood still for a moment. She turned her head slightly to see him. He was resting a hand on the back of Rocket's chair. The empty chair. He did not know that Sweet Pea was watching. He left his hand there for a while, before turning to leave. Sweet Pea turned around as he was leaving; she turned as if to say something. What could she say? Like a ghost in silence, she watched him go.

[contd]


	6. Down the Dark Will Fall

Chap. 6

 _Down the Dark Will Fall_

Sweet Pea thought her father was happy on the days that Davey came to work, or when he called on her. A few times, she even heard her father laughing. A comrade-at-arms, even a part-time farm hand, is good for morale.

The Harvest Dance at the Grange Hall was probably the most important social event in Jackson's Leap. It was after all, a small agricultural community firmly rooted in tradition. And when her mother heard that Davey had asked Sweet Pea to go to the dance, the old woman seemingly became a teenager again. It was as if Rocket had almost returned; Sweet Pea could see some of her sister's traits appear in her mother. It was more than that.

"Where's the Sears catalog?" her mother said, in a voice that sounded like Rocket. "We have to get you a pretty new dress and new shoes!"

That did it. Sweet Pea had never liked high-heeled shoes, and she was suddenly with Blue again.

She had been a captive for only a few weeks. She was standing naked with Blue, a client was waiting.

"He's a big shot," Blue said as he was tossing aside some of the costumes from Dr Gorski's acting therapy. "Wear this."

It was a nineteenth-century dance hall outfit.

"He'll like that. And these shoes," Blue ordered. "He has this thing for shoes."

Suddenly Blue grabbed her roughly and kissed her.

"And Sweet Pea," he said, "make him happy. I promised him that you would satisfy him. Don't let me down."

But the shoes hurt her feet, and Sweet Pea took them off...

Blue was furious when he found out. Sweet Pea could see murder in his eyes.

"You worthless whore," He spit at her. "I said wear the shoes, and you take them off! I told you he had a fetish for shoes, and you take them off! You worthless whore!"

Sweet Pea opened her mouth to explain.

"Shut up!" Blue shouted. "You'll pay for this, girl. You'll pay."

The next night, C. J. and another orderly took her from her bed, after gagging her with a dirty rag and a belt. They took her to the basement of an abandoned building on the Asylum grounds - a setting right out of a nineteenth-century Gothic romance - wrapped her wrists in terry clothe towels, and tied her securely to a ring sunk in the stone wall. Roughly they stripped her naked. For along time she was alone in the cold blackness. Then a blinding light lit her up. There was a long pause, and then Blue appeared. He came close to her and whispered:

"I'm going to kill you now. I can't cut her throat or beat you to death - the devil knows you deserve it for disobeying me - but I can't leave marks. Marks mean questions."

He held a roll of duct tape in her face.

"There are other ways, though," he said as he slowly peeled off some tape. And laughing, he sealed up Sweet Pea's nose.

Instantly, Sweet Pea was struggling frantically. She heard clearly C.J. and the other orderly laughing in the dark too. Blue was watching her suffocate. Her struggles slowed. But when she thought her lungs and head would exploded, she thrashed violently around one last time. She was going to die. She knew it. She collapsed. Still Blue watched her. Before it was too late, he grabbed her by the hair, jerked her head up and peeled off the tape. She gasped for air violently.

"Never disobey me! Never!"

Blue took off her gag.

"Say it," he demanded.

Sweet Pea still could not breathe. She was barely conscious.

"Say it!"

"I... will... never... disobey... you."

"Good girl."

Still, she struggled for air.

"Never forget," Blue said, "You breathe because I let you breathe. If you disobey me, or displease one of my clients: you don't breathe!"

Now with her mother looking at the shoes in the catalog, Sweet Pea began to hyperventilate. Her mother knew nothing of that monster Blue and the way he tortured her over those high heels.

"Oh, my God! Sweet Pea!"

Her mother raced to a drawer and pulled out a paper bag. She held it to her daughter's mouth.

"What's wrong? What's wrong?"

Something was wrong. Even the rooster knew it. He did not greet the first light of dawn with his usual call. He was ominously silent.

"Oh, my God! Sweet Pea!"

She heard her mother's voice, as if in a dream.

Sweet Pea went down stairs. Her mother was not in the kitchen. Looking out the backdoor, Sweet Pea saw her mother staggering in the gray half-light of dawn from the barn, like a zombie in one of those stupid horror movies. She ran past the old woman and into the barn.

Her father was hanging by his neck. Dead.

She knew he was dead.

As if she were the star of some Dada play that made no sense, Sweet Pea studied the hideous tableau. She did not know what had made this morning different than all the other 22,293 mornings in her father's life; she would never know. Some questions have no answers; like the digits of pi, they are asked to infinity. Circles. Endless circles. Perhaps, like prayers, the answers are the dreams of the countless people who toil as her father toiled. Soon the farm would be only the vacant crumbling stone foundations and a few yellow daffodils struggling forth in springtime amidst the dead weeds. Remains of anonymous prayers.

Suddenly, the smells of the barn nauseated her. The sweet/sour odor of the silage made her dizzy. The smell of the manure was overpowering. She staggered back a few paces, thought she would fall, but managed to lean against the door frame. The cool morning air made her feel inconsiderably better. Then the thought that she should call the sheriff gave her purpose, however useless it was. Upon reaching the backdoor of the house, she felt strangely high. Her energy seemed unexpectedly boundless, and she headed for the telephone, passing her mother who was now seated in Rocket's chair, gently rocking back and forth like water at the shore.

Sweet Pea spoke to Sheriff Wilson when he arrived, spoke to him as if it were any ordinary day, spoke to him as if talking about the weather. When he was convinced that there was no foul play, the Sheriff summoned Mr Hayes the undertaker. Again, Sweet Pea spoke to him as if nothing remarkable had occurred. She thanked him for coming so quickly, as if he had simply given her the time of day. Dada. Then the three men, the Sheriff, the undertaker, and the undertaker's assistant cut her father down. Sweet Pea watched the grim task, and only after Hayes had cover her father with a sheet did she weep. As Hayes and his helper wheeled the gurney out of the barn, Sweet Pea started to follow; but her knees would not work. Wilson caught her before she fell, and he carried her to the kitchen. Dada. Although she would have hit the dirty floor of the barn, Sweet Pea did not like being swept up by the strong arms of the Sheriff. Her emotions revolted at his power over her, however well intended his assistance was. Her tears ceased, and she was glad when he set her into a chair near her mother. Davey came to milk the cows after the Sheriff called him with the news, and Sweet Pea made breakfast for her mother, who did not eat.

Davey came in after his work was done. Dada. He tried to be affectionate and comforting, but Sweet Pea did not want to be touched. She could not be touched. If he had touched her, she would have screamed. He went away hurt.

Doctor Page signed the death certificate later that day; and on the following day, Mr Hayes returned. He spoke to Sweet Pea and her mother; the arrangements were settled. The old woman was very quiet - a silence that Sweet Pea had never known. And when she did speak, her voice was small and unreal. She was already a ghost.

[contd]


	7. Do You Think I Bury the Dead w My Love

Chap. 7

 _Do You Think I Bury the Dead with My Love_

The days were shorter and the nights longer. It was time to bury the dead. Baby Doll, Amber, Blondie, her father. Rocket. Her baby sister.

It was autumn long ago and yet only yesterday. Sweet Pea lay on her bed below the little window in her room. Outside the sunlight was bright, but the air was cool. Occasionally, the cool air filtered through the screen, into the warm room, and over Sweet Pea's face like a passing ghost. Rocket stood in the doorway, a book from the library in her hands. Rocket read aloud the words of the Paiute prophet Wovoka. Blondie with her tomahawk. Sweet Pea heard Blondie's voice:

"'Jesus is now upon the earth. He appears like a cloud. The dead are still alive again. I do not know when they will be here; maybe this fall or in the spring.'"

The words circled around her.

Like a cloud. Like a cloud. Like a cloud.

The words circled around Sweet Pea.

Like a faux Garden of Eden, flowers surrounded her father's coffin; but they could not mask the smell of the house of death. The smell of embalming fluid hung in the air like mustard gas over Flanders' Fields. It made Sweet Pea's head float. It made her guts ripple. It followed her like an evil ghost, ever lurking with malevolent spite. Twice a day for three days there were calling hours at the funeral parlor. Friends came, family came, cousins that Sweet Pea had not seen for a long while came. A stranger came. And they all spoke with soft voices like clouds. And every time she returned home, Sweet Pea vomited. Still she could not expel that evil odor. It clung to her like mildew on a damp tombstone.

In the receiving line every evening, Sweet Pea saw Colleen approach. She looked right at her former lover and did not recognize her until she spoke. Colleen was with a handsome young man. Sweet Pea was puzzled - he did not belong.

"This is John," Colleen said.

 _John?_

"I'm sorry to meet you under such circumstances," he said softly.

"Would you give us a minute, sweetheart," Colleen said to him.

 _Sweetheart?_

He drifted away.

Sweet Pea and Colleen slipped into an empty room behind the curtain in back of her father's coffin.

"I hope you understand," Colleen said. "I had to come."

"You didn't write," Sweet Pea said almost to herself.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what to say."

"You could have written that you loved me and couldn't wait for us to be together," Sweet Pea said. "That's the way my heart said it should be."

"Mine too," Colleen said.

"I believe you," Sweet Pea whispered. "...And John?"

"I'm going to marry him."

"You will be happy," Sweet Pea declared after a pause.

Colleen was silent.

They shared a tearful embrace. When they separated, Sweet Pea giggled. A nervous, incongruous, wet twitter, as if she were ashamed of her tears.

After the funeral, Sweet Pea did not surrender to the arms of Davey. From her closet she pulled her old ragged teddy bear. She wanted to touch something from long ago, when life was bigger and not made small by strangling sorrows.

[contd]


	8. Is It Winter Where You Are

Chap. 8

 _Is It Winter Where You Are_

Sweet Pea awoke suddenly from a dream. Her bedroom window glowed faintly with the first grey light of morning. The farm was deathly silent. The cows and chickens were gone - sold at auction the day before. Instinctively, she knew something was wrong. Quickly, she got up, put on her robe, and went downstairs with bare feet. There was no life. She went into the dark kitchen.

Her mother was sitting at the table, in Rocket's chair. Sitting in the dark. She put a hand on the old woman's shoulder. The body slowly slumped forward, and the head hit the table with a loud _thunk_. A stake driven through Sweet Pea's heart.

Sweet Pea went out the backdoor and down the pair of steps. Beneath her bare feet, the flagstone was smooth, hard, and cold like a tombstone. The sun was smoldering in the eastern sky. The clouds were glowing like coals in a hearth. A new day was being born. Soon it would snow.

Ω

Special thanks to Famaniel for the reviews and encouragement, and of course for Sinéad!


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